Time to wrap.
I've tried twice to do this expat thing, and I'm not ready to die so I'm going to not-die.
I can't stand living around old people, much less living like one. Cuenca is fine, such as it is, but I don't belong here, don't have a life, don't want to be one of the gray potbellies sitting at a table.
Not one of those experiencing lunch, after a full morning of anticipation. Not one of those reminiscing lunch, during the long slow afternoon.
Don't want to wait for dark so I can sleep and resurrect and wait for the next lunch.
Won't post pictures of supper. Won't pose in front of the pool. Am not going to turn off my brain.
Don't care to act my age — I still have things to do, and as long as I can do them I will, since I have the time and enough money, and no responsibilities. It's time to be irresponsible and be irresponsible in a serious way.
Maybe in a month I'll be back, or six. Maybe when I'm still breathing but can't walk no more. Or maybe I'll die on the plane back here, or elsewhere. I don't care. No one cares.
I'm free. To come or go, and right now.
I go.